


upon a star

by thescientist291



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, rush write exercises, somewhere between poetry and prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescientist291/pseuds/thescientist291
Summary: they say be careful what you wish for.





	upon a star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darcylindbergh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcylindbergh/gifts), [givemeamemoryicanuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeamemoryicanuse/gifts).



to tell the truth, you should have seen it coming.

“nothing happens to me,” you say. “nothing happens,” and you’re right, for now, but then an entity that’s brighter than a shock of light takes you by surprise and your world is turned upside down and you look around and wonder how anyone else is still left standing perfectly fine.

as it happens with all things bright and beautiful, you get pulled in. every day, the attraction is renewed, and you find yourself growing more and more accustomed to the strangeness that is him but no more used to the breath of fresh air that is dashing through the streets, blood pumping in and out through a heart that’s finally given a reason to beat again, and crashing through the safety of a door with a knocker neither of you ever set right.

it’s like life has suddenly become a race but it’s between two people who have no desire to beat the other, only to egg each other on.

 _be careful what you wish for_ , they say, as your heart takes on the challenge of defying life and heat and pushes against its luck and one day takes back death and cold.

they say _you don’t know what you have til it’s gone_ , but that’s cruel, because that implies you never knew exactly what you had in your hands all this time ( _and perhaps it’s cruel because accusations are too often based in truth, but you can’t stand that possibility, so you press on, soldier that you are, and push it all from your mind_ ).

they say _if you love something, set it free_ , but is that even fair, because you never caged him, never tied him down, he was never even yours to keep.

 _be careful what you wish for_ , they say, and for once you take it to heart, because suddenly midnight pleadings and graveside tears grant you something no other mourner ever receives, and he comes back, but in the heat of the moment you tear at him, and you hit him, and you hate him for being free even if you never even kept him in the first place. you hit him and you hate yourself later for it but you say you could be forgiven because it was all in the moment and you’ll be fine once it passes.

except it doesn’t. it doesn’t, and the weeks pass and you lie in bed with no other soul in sight and you still push it all from your mind because this is how you learned to deal in the past two years, you push it all from your mind and you forget that you once made wishes to the stars for something that should have been impossible, because if you allow yourself to realise that you suddenly have the impossible, you will think you’re special, and you will think the stars have granted you something you do not deserve, that you could never live up to, and you can’t take that, so you push it all away.

time used to fly just as the two of you flew down alleyways and traffic jams but lately it’s been crawling, just crawling, because it’s like they say, _time flies when you’re having fun_ and there’s no fun to be had anymore. time crawls but then, somehow, it’s been another two years and you’ve still not spoken, and you’ve still not bothered to acknowledge that something impossible exists again in the universe, and you’ve started to wonder lately if the impossible were just that, just impossible, and you had made it all up and it was all just some terrible dream, or a wonderful nightmare.

then, places of places, you see him at the graveyard.

you don’t even realise you’re passing by until the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end and you’re compelled to look up, and you see him. it shouldn’t be easy to spot someone from that far away, but you could never forget his hair, his coat, his posture and stance, even if they are still so foreign to your eyes. he’s bent low, hunched over, comfortably, as if he’s developed this stoop for quite a long time now, and the carer in you drives you forward before you can permit your body to take over, and your body doesn’t let you stop it until you’re feet away from where he stands.

quiet. 

it’s too quiet.

even with the traffic just outside the site, and the leaves that rustle around your feet with the low breeze that winds its way through, and the rise and fall of your chest and the heart inside that’s pumping far too harshly to be healthy, there’s nothing to hear. you wonder if it’s the same for him.

you suddenly recall where you’re at and you, instinctively, look down past his legs and catch the glossy ebony of a headstone with the only words that could ever properly do the man who is before it justice.

 _Sherlock Holmes_ , you think, or at least you think you think it but apparently the exhale of a whisper is too harsh in this silent air because you see the shoulders before you tense at the blow.

before you can think of what to say (or what you might say in response to something he would say first), he suddenly walks away, and you’re so taken aback by this change in anticipated routine that you don’t react until he’s fifty crunches of dry leaves away and fading, fading, phasing.

you don’t breathe again until he’s further away than ever before.

***

 _be careful what you wish for_. this is what they always say, yes? well this time you don’t allow yourself to fret about what might come to pass through your wish, because if the stars were willing enough to give him a second chance at life, surely they can be willing enough to give you a second chance at doing this right, because you butchered the first chance at redemption, but now you’ve jolted back into yourself and it’s horrible, but you need him, you need every inch of him, every tense of muscle that tells you he’s unwell before he will ever admit it, every exhale of breath that speaks of harsh truths that you can’t take and every inhale of breath that tells you _at least he is alive_ , and you go, you go, you pack up every bag and you make your way to a place that might not even exist and you walk up to a door with the still skewed knocker and it’s open, somehow, but you don’t question it, you just write it off as a sign from the universe and you keep going, carrying those bags, and you walk up the seventeen steps and suddenly you’re in front of a door that you don’t know how to open.

you stare at it.

it stares back at you.

you break the contest and head up to a bedroom that exists more in your imagination than in memory, and you push open the door, seeking a momentary reprieve, but instead you march your way into something you’ve never seen.

he is there. lying on your bed, on sheets you never changed, under blankets that you never took with you.

more shocking than this, however, is that he is fast asleep.

ever so gently, you set the bags down.

and you look.

and you take in your fill.

you take in a breath ( _of courage, of bravery, of wits, of strength, of air_ ) and you inch under the blankets with him.

you wait for his eyes to open, but they never do.

instead, his breathing changes. stops, holds, shifts, goes from deep to wide, steady to halting, until it finally settles on one large inhale, exhale, and he moves in closer to you.

his hand closes around your shirt and his curls move towards your face and his leg encloses yours and suddenly, every gap you never knew existed is filled, and every missing piece has been made whole.

 _be careful what you wish for_ , you think, as you remember the wish that started this all.

 _please, god, let me live_ , you think, as your wish finally comes true, and you settle into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to darcylindbergh because her writing style is everything I aspire towards, and she just inspires me immensely. Dedicated also to givemeamemoryicanuse because she is a wonderful friend who always encourages me to write.
> 
> I wrote this all in one sitting without any idea of where it would go. I think I maybe rewrote three sentences. It is wholly unbeta-d, very much unedited, and I'm not sure if I will go back to change anything unless it's a huge typo. I like how organic it is, even if it is very imperfect.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think :)


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